


The Falling of the Whole Empire

by Mechanical_Orange



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-30
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-15 08:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/525100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mechanical_Orange/pseuds/Mechanical_Orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Maniac.  A plate of pancakes.  A threat of impending doom.  Darcy wonders how she got herself into this mess, and Loki wonders how to get her out.  An anti-love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. don't wanna be by myself

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first tasertricks fic! Please don't be shy about telling me what you think; I hope I haven't covered ground that's already been tread on too much.

It’s the décor – the white walls, the white ceiling, the white door – that does him in.  He can stare into space for hours, imagine the whole universe projected onto those white surfaces, but every time he blinks the illusion’s gone.  It’s just empty space.  As white and stark as the snow-laden plains of Jotunheim. 

 

Sleep evades him, because when he closes his eyes he still sees white – or something far more sinister.

 

It would be enough if he were just punished by those feeble Midgardians, or even Odin, as arrogant as he is.  But he is still cursed, plagued by Thanos, a merciless and cruel Titan, desperate to spread his ruinous intent throughout the universe.  And Loki has failed him.

 

So if he dreams – and if he sleeps he always dreams – it’s a dream of cold and torture and vicious threats that cause him to tremble and clench his fingers into his palms so forcefully he draws blood.

 

There are two spots on his white sheets that are stained red-brown with his dried blood.  His handlers haven’t noticed.  Or if they have, they don’t care.

 

Loki assumes time passes as slowly or quickly has it always has.  Time means little for an Aesir, or for whatever he is.  He can turn the lights on or off with only his voice, but in the dark the room is pitch black and too reminiscent of the time spent under Thanos’ command.  So he leaves the lights on, staring at the bright, blank walls that drive him nearly as insane as Thanos had. 

 

He does not sleep; he does not eat, and slowly his skin turns sallow and clings to his bones.  But he will not die… probably.  At least not quickly, not by Midgardian standards.  He can suffer here for years; he can outlive all his captors and laugh as they wither away before his eyes.  It’s a small comfort.

 

But there is one who will live alongside him.  His dear brother.

 

_Thor._

 

He sneers the name as disdainfully as he can when he sees his brother open the door, Mjolnir at his side.

 

“Brother,” Thor says.  “I have come to see how you are faring.”

 

“And now you’ve seen,” Loki replies.  He scowls at his brother, at his brother’s audacity at walking in here as if on a social call.  “You can tell my keepers that I am faring as well as can be hoped while detained in their quaint Midgardian prison.”

 

“They say you are not eating,” Thor says with an air of concern.  It makes Loki’s blood boil.  “Or sleeping.  They are worried, as am I.”

 

“Both are unnecessary,” Loki snaps.  “Even without sustenance I will outlive everyone in this miserable realm.”

 

“Brother, you should not speak of it so,” Thor replies.  “It is a wonderful and charming place.  I hope you will see that one day.”

 

“Oh yes, this prison is the epitome of charm,” Loki sneers.  “Tell me, what did they give you in return for allowing them to keep me here?  Is it that simpering mortal girl from before?  Or perhaps one even more useless?”

 

“You should not speak of Jane that way,” Thor tells him, his tone tight.  “I have hopes to make her my wife.”

 

Loki scoffs.  “And you think Odin would allow it?  You are even more deluded than I first thought.”

 

“Brother – ”

 

“Do not call me that,” Loki hisses.  “I am no more your brother than a wolf is to a sheep.”  Loki stands finally, rising from his bed.  “Leave, Thor.”

 

“But Brother – ”

 

“I said leave!” Loki yells, and he can feel his veins throbbing, his eyes bulging, his heart pounding.  This all too much, much too much.  Thor must notice for his stunned silence almost gives way to sympathy, but he thinks better of it, turns on his heel and leaves.

 

Loki sinks back to his bed. 

 

True, starving will not kill him.  But neither will it sustain him.

    

* * *

 

 

Maybe hours pass.  Maybe days and nights.  No matter, Loki simply stares at the ceiling and recalls the highlights of his mayhem.  The pleasure of causing utter chaos, the way he so grandly lived up to his title.  He made Midgardians tremble in their boots, shiver in cold sweat and wet themselves out of fear.  Loki relishes in it, the power he felt when all those lowly mortals had knelt before him, and the scepter Thanos had given him hummed with satisfaction.  Everything was as it should be, and Loki was king.

 

The memories of his reign dissolves into dreams – Loki sitting on a golden throne, Loki smiling as humanity bows at his feet, Loki laughing as Thor is imprisoned and rendered helpless.  Slowly, the dreams lose their shimmer and recede into darkness.  A cold creeps in and sinks more deeply into his bones than the air of Jotunheim ever had.

 

“Fallen Prince of Asgard.”  Thanos’ raspy voice echoes throughout the darkness, and Loki knows his time is up.

 

“Thanos,” he replies, barely above a whisper.

 

“You have not kept your promise to me,” Thanos says.   

 

“It was out of my control,” Loki hisses.  “I did everything you asked of me; don’t blame me because your plan has failed.”

 

“You were warned what would happen if you failed me,” Thanos continues.  “The blame lies at your feet alone, and for that you must pay the price.”

 

Pain ratchets through Loki’s body; he falls to his knees, convulsing with excruciating spasms that burn through every one of his nerve endings.  He cries out incomprehensibly, unable to even think through the agony.  Just as quickly as it had come, the pain leaves, and Loki is barely holding himself up on all fours due to his trembling limbs.

 

“That is but a fraction of what you face,” Thanos tells him, and the bloodlust in his voice is obvious.  Loki suppresses a shudder.  “You cannot hide from me, Frost Giant.”  The label, sneered as an insult, infuriates Loki beyond reason.

 

“Enough, Thanos,” Loki says, rising to his feet.  “Hunt for me if you will, but I will never give you the satisfaction of finding me.  You may scour the nine realms, the cracks and crevices in between the branches of Yggdrasil, but I will elude you still.”

 

Thanos’ mirthless laugh rings throughout the void and fills Loki’s ears with dread and despair.  His bluff has been called; Thanos can see right through him.

 

“Very well, Mischief Maker, hide for the rest of eternity.”  Thanos’ grin reveals all his teeth and contains only malicious glee.  “But know that your reckoning may be sooner than that.”

 

Loki awakes in bed, the white room the same as it ever was.  Fresh blood dots his sheets.  He is panting shallow and sharp breaths, unable to fill his lungs completely.  His vision grows dark, not the dark accompanied by sleep, but one that comes with unwilling unconsciousness.  He hears a beeping; it sounds distant and grows fainter as his vision continues to blur and his lungs refuse to operate.

 

Then there is nothing.      

 

* * *

 

 

The nothingness gives way, and Loki sees again the same curséd white, along with the same curséd brother.

 

“You awaken!” Thor cries, a relieved smile on his face.   “I am glad to see it.”

 

 Loki longs to make a scathing retort, but his mouth is bone dry and his lips cracked.  He attempts to lift his arm, but it is so heavy; his muscles feel like jelly.  Loki’s eyes rove over his own body, attempting to make sense of his terribly weakened state.  And he sees it on his left arm, a needle stuck into his skin at the elbow infusing him with some sort of solution, no doubt seeking to deteriorate his state even further. 

 

He makes to remove it with his right hand, but can barely lift it a few inches.  He groans, but it is lacking in conviction; his throat is scratchy and weak.

 

“Brother, would you like some water?”  Thor is at his side immediately with a glass of water, holding it at his younger brother’s lips. 

 

Despite himself Loki drinks; he gulps the water until the glass is empty. 

 

“More,” he croaks, and Thor obliges.

 

After his third glass he’s sated and finds his voice.

 

“What have they done to me?” he asks. 

 

“You were ill,” Thor answers.  “You collapsed and they revived you.”

 

“What is this?” Loki snarls, gesturing to the needle.  “What have they done?”

 

“They said it’s something called saline, it’s meant to help you.”

 

“Lies!” Loki cries.  He reaches for the needle, fingers fumbling over the tape holding into his skin.

 

“Brother, don’t,” Thor says, but it is too late.

 

Loki rips the needle from his arm and lunges for his brother.  Thor lets him come, but Loki can barely make his trembling fingers grasp the other’s shoulders. 

 

“You are letting them do this,” Loki says, his face twisted into a fierce scowl.  “You want them to hurt me, to kill me!”

 

“Loki, no, I swear it!”  Thor rests his hands on Loki’s shoulders.  “We wish to help you.”

 

“Oh yes, help me now,” Loki replies.  “But when he comes for me you will gladly give me up to save your insipid mortal pets.”

 

“When who comes for you, brother?” Thor asks, looking into Loki’s eyes with genuine concern.

 

Loki releases Thor from his grip, and pushes him away.  He is breathing hard, and a wave of heavy drowsiness comes over him.  But with it, a realization.  Thor doesn’t know.  Thanos is coming, and if he finds Loki here on Midgard – on Earth – he will finish what Loki had started.  It would almost be worth the torture Loki faces at the hands of the Titan to watch this world burn.

 

“Go,” Loki sneers.  “Go back to your little mortal girl.”  Loki sits on his bed.  “I have nothing more to say.”

 

Thor gives him one last glance and exits.  Loki falls back onto his pillow and closes his eyes.

 

He sleeps dreamlessly.

 

* * *

  

Upon awaking there is a man in a suit standing in the corner of his room.  Set before him on a table is a plate of food, a glass of water, and several utensils.

 

“Eat,” the man says.  Loki rises and approaches the man – another faceless member of this idiotic organization – and leers at him.  The man fingers the gun in his holster.

 

Loki leans in, grinning at him.  “No.”

 

“Director’s orders,” the man says.  “I can’t leave until you do.”

 

Loki’s grin grows wider.  He suddenly grabs the man by the throat, too quickly for the man to reach his gun, and smashes him face first into the table.  The man is unconscious instantly, and the room fills with a thick white fog.

 

Loki coughs and collapses on the floor.

 

When he awakens, he finds his hands have been chained behind his back and he is seated in a chair.  It’s uncomfortable and humiliating, but, he supposes, to be expected.   All the same, Loki grimaces at the new man in a suit standing across from him.  Again there is food on a table, and Loki is commanded to eat.

 

Loki kicks the table at the man with such force that the man is thrown into the wall behind him, a small trickle of blood running down his forehead.

 

And the fog reappears.

 

It’s to his great surprise that this time it is a woman.  No, not a woman, a girl.  She sits at the table across from him and does not wear a suit, but something far more casual.  She has glasses, but they do nothing to hide the fear in her eyes.

 

Loki tests his bonds.  His arms are behind him still, and his legs are chained to the floor.  He looks at the girl.

 

“I will not eat,” he tells her.

 

“Yeah, I heard,” she replies.

 

He stares – or rather, glares – at her.  She stares back.  She’s putting on a good show of bravery, but Loki can tell that it’s only a thin veneer.  She is terrified.

 

Loki grins.


	2. you wanna hear about the deal I'm making

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I realized that Loki was unconscious like 80% of the first chapter, sorry about that. To make up for it I've kept him completely conscious in this chapter. Enjoy!

 

Darcy really, really tries.  But she’s not a scientist or a genius or some kind of freaky prodigy.  She’s just Darcy.  Snarky, funny, loyal Darcy.  And because she’s Darcy, she gets by. 

 

Fetch this, file that, another pot of coffee please, and that data won’t enter itself.

 

It’s not glamorous, or even challenging.  But it’s necessary, and it’s what Darcy does.  She’s paid for it now, at least.  It’s a fairly generous salary, considering she’s basically just a glorified secretary.  She even bought a new iPod with it, since _someone_ took her old one and never returned it.  Aside from that, working for SHIELD isn’t that bad, and some days it can be pretty interesting.  Darcy occasionally glimpses an Avenger or two in the hallway.  Captain America even talked to her once!  Okay, he basically just said “Good morning, ma’am,” but still, it was pretty cool.  A few times Tony Stark and Bruce Banner dropped by Jane’s lab, just to say hi and wreak a little havoc.  Tony did the wreaking, while Bruce did the apologizing. 

 

Erik and Jane were making real breakthroughs on their Rosy-Eisenstein Bridge, or whatever it was called.  She liked what Thor had called it, the Bifrost.  The fact that Thor had been to Earth and didn’t manage to visit Jane had initially made her upset, but then the astrophysicist became more determined than ever to find a way to get him back.  Darcy secretly admired that about Jane.  Sure, she was demanding and way too single-minded, but when Jane wanted something she would get it done no matter what.  There were days where Darcy had force Jane to go home, otherwise Jane would’ve been there all night and severely depleted their coffee supplies.  SHIELD only provided them with so much.

 

Darcy had graciously been allowed to finish up her degree before signing her life away to SHIELD.  She wasn’t entirely opposed to the employment, but she did wish she had a little more choice in the matter.  Apparently, however, once you run into SHIELD and are on a first name basis with an alien/god dude, you’re not allowed to do much else.  Whatever, her work suited her just fine for the time being, and checking out all the Avengers’ well-shaped asses was quite a perk.

 

From where Darcy was standing, life was pretty decent.

 

So of course, fate had to go and fuck it up.

 

* * *

 

 

“I remember you,” Loki says suddenly, because he does remember her – her face, scared and helpless – taking shelter from The Destroyer behind his brother.  That memory seems so distant now, but it still holds the same fleeting pleasure and immense disappointment he felt when he felled his brother, only to see him stand back up. 

 

The girl’s eyes go wide, and it looks as if she just realized she may be in over her head. 

 

“Tell me, girl,” he sneers.  “What brings you before me a second time?”

 

She opens her mouth, closes it, then opens it again, as if she can’t find the right thing to say.  Loki couldn’t care less about anything she says, but it’s amusing to watch her struggle.

 

“I – we’ve never met,” she says finally.

 

“No,” Loki agrees.  “We haven’t.”  He smiles, somewhat charming, somewhat devious.  “So tell me, girl, what is your name?”

 

“It’s Darcy,” she says hesitantly.  “Darcy Lewis.”

 

“Darcy Lewis,” he repeats, testing the name with his cracked lips.  “Do you not remember that day in the desert?”  He leans forward as much as his bonds will allow.  “Do you not remember the Destroyer even as you cowered before it – before me?”

 

She looks away, properly cowed.  It feels so good to hold this power still, even when wrapped in chains and defeat. 

 

“If you’re so frightened of me, Darcy Lewis,” he sneers.  “Then why are you here?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was supposed to be a joyous occasion.  Jane was ecstatic; she could hardly sit still.  Erik had a small smile on his face all day, which was about as animated as he got.  And the Avengers filed in one by one, each with expressions varying from wariness (Agent Romanoff) to skepticism (Tony) to muted excitement (Bruce).  Jane’s Bifrost was finally working.  Thor would be coming back.

 

The machine spun and whirred, emitting a weird ethereal light and then suddenly there he was in all his Norse god glory – Thor.  But he was not alone. 

 

In a matter of seconds (Darcy’s pretty sure Natasha broke the sound barrier) all the agents had their weapons drawn and aimed at a sallow man with dark hair.

 

“My friends,” Thor cried.  “It is so good to see you again!”

 

Darcy looked around at all the agents; she didn’t think the feeling was mutual.  Every SHIELD member was staring daggers at Thor’s companion, and Jane looked torn between elation and horror.  Darcy dearly wished she could’ve posted a picture of this on her Facebook without inciting the wrath of SHIELD.

 

But before she could see any ass-kicking go down, she was being led away by Erik with Jane following behind.  She wanted to complain, but the look on Erik’s face stopped her. 

 

“Let’s leave it to the professionals, Darcy,” he said.

 

* * *

 

 

“I volunteered,” The girl – Darcy Lewis – mutters.

 

“Did you?” Loki asks, intrigued at this foolish girl’s audacity.  “And why would you do that?”

 

“Well, someone had to,” she replies.  “And I’m not scared of you.”

 

“Yes, I suppose you think you’re brave by coming here,” Loki sneers.  “But let me tell you, Darcy, you are nothing but a _fool_.”  He strains against his chains; the metal digs into his wrists but he doesn’t mind it.  He likes it, even, the way the pain reminds him of who he is and that he’s still alive.  For now.

 

“I am dangerous, girl.  Even chained up like this I can hurt you in ways you can’t even imagine.”  He leans as close to her as possible, every link in his chains pressing against his wrists, leaving dark purple marks in his skin.  She grips the sides of her chair, paralyzed and reeking of fear.  “I can see right through you,” he says.  “You are nothing; you cling to those greater than you in the hopes that they’ll notice.”  He smiles unkindly.  “But they haven’t, have they?  Is that why you’re here, Darcy?  Maybe they’ll remember you after you’ve faced down the monster and what – rehabilitated it?” 

 

“I’m just supposed to get you to eat,” she replies shakily.  She bites her lip and looks him in the eye.  “And I’m only doing this as a favor for Thor.”

 

Loki snarls and pulls his chains so hard that they break (finally), and he reaches for the girl.  His fingers curl around her shirt collar and pull her forward.

 

“Don’t,” he says through bared teeth.  Her hands clutch at his, trying to pry herself from his grip – a mortal’s hands are worthless against those of a god.  “If you think that mentioning that oaf’s name will ingratiate yourself to me, you are mistaken.” 

 

“Let go,” she pleads.  “They’ll gas you again.”

 

“And why do you care?”

 

“I don’t want to get gassed too,” she replies.  “I think it kills brain cells or something.”

 

Loki snorts, and shoves her away.  She falls back into her seat with an undignified thump.  He remains standing, though his feet are still chained to the floor.  He likes leaning over this girl, intimidating her, reminding her of who is the god and who is the insignificant blot on the universe. 

 

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” he says bitingly, glaring down at her.  She stares back, and suddenly Loki realizes this is the longest conversation he’s had in quite some time.  He can barely stand to look at Thor, much less speak to him, and the sight of SHIELD’s suited minions incites him with rage.  This girl, however, is unassuming, fearful and meek.  He likes it; he really does.

 

But then, perhaps SHIELD or Thor – no, that would be giving him too much credit – had anticipated this, and sent her here in the hopes that she would convince him to do what they could not.  Did they actually think that would work?  The silly girl was still staring at him with a mix of confusion and fear, and he turned his lip in disgust.  With one swift movement he threw the dish off the table and it clattered to the floor with a resounding crack.  At the noise, the girl snapped out of her paralysis. 

 

“What the fuck, man!” she cries, jumping from her chair and picking up the ruined food.  “I made those pancakes from scratch!”

 

“You did what?”

 

“I made these,” she says, piling the – what did she call them, pancakes? – back onto the cracked plate, “from scratch.” 

 

“They look disgusting,” Loki replies disdainfully.  “You mortals have terrible taste.”

 

“Well, they’re not disgusting,” she tells him, placing the plate back on the table.  “Even Th—”  She stops herself as she sees Loki glower.  “Everyone likes them, especially when they’re covered in syrup.”

 

As she resumes her seat she gives her fingers a contemplative glance, then pops them in her mouth one at a time.   Loki stares, dumbfounded.

 

“What are you doing?” Loki asks finally.  “Have you no shame?”

 

“When it comes to pancakes?” Darcy says, removing her finger from her mouth.  “No.”

 

“Do you seriously think I could be convinced to eat this slop just because you’re practically licking it up off the floor?”  He reaches out, too quickly for Darcy to move, and grabs her hand.  “Is this the height of Midgardian cuisine?”  He runs his thumb over each of her fingers; they’re still damp and glistening with her saliva.  “Is this all you have to show for it?”

 

Darcy tries to pull her hand away, all bravado forgotten.  She stares at his fingers, then at him.  Loki can feel the pulse in wrist speed up.  He smirks, then lets go of her hand and puts his thumb in his mouth.

 

If he were honest with himself, he would say he had no idea why he did that, or what reaction he was expecting to elicit.  He would say that he had no idea that he would taste not only the grime of his own skin, but the saltiness of hers mingled with the sweetness of her mouth.

 

He would say he had no idea it would be such a dangerous course of action.

 

But Loki is an easy liar – a smooth talker by nature – and so he says none of those things.  Instead he pulls her much closer and brings his lips to her ears.

 

“Return tomorrow, Darcy Lewis.  And bring more.” 

 

He releases her, but she doesn’t move.  Her breaths are shallow and she stares at him, or rather, at his mouth.

 

“Go now,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument and snaps her out of her daze.  She snatches the plate off the table and makes for the door without looking back.

 

Loki hears the door close behind her and the monotony of white walls returns.

 

* * *

  

What.  The.  Fuck.

 

 Darcy doesn’t catch her breath until she’s a good two corridors away from Loki’s cell.  She realizes she must look like a complete idiot wandering around the halls of SHIELD with a plate of pancakes in her hand.  Why the hell had she agreed to do that?  And why the hell had everyone let her?  Hell, Thor had even encouraged it.

 

“I have faith in you, Darcy,” he had told her with those kind blue eyes and rich, deep voice.  She knows Loki has a reputation as a manipulator, but now she wonders if Thor hadn’t picked up a thing or two from his erstwhile brother.

 

“Miss Lewis,” a SHIELD agent rounds the corner.  “Please come with me; we need to debrief you.”

 

“But what about the pancakes?” she asks weakly, but the agent has already started walking away.

 

Darcy shrugs and follows.

 

The debriefing room is a packed house – there’s all six of the Avengers, plus Nick Fury, plus Jane (who’s pretty reluctant to leave Thor’s side in any case), plus Erik (because why the hell not) plus another SHIELD agent who Darcy assumes is Maria Hill. 

 

So that’s why Darcy feels extra idiotic when she enters the room holding a cracked plate full of floor pancakes.  Darcy wonders if there isn’t an Avenger or two here who would just put her out of her misery.

 

“Miss Lewis,” Fury begins in that tone of his that can only be described as ‘like a boss’.  “I see you’ve made a breakthrough with the prisoner.”

 

“Breakthough?” Darcy repeats.

 

“Yeah, you know, like how Loki didn’t kill or maim you or anything,” Tony Stark pipes up.  “You seem to have a way with supervillians and breakfast foods.”  He smirks at the dish in her hands.

 

“What Mr. Stark is saying,” Fury says, “is that Loki seems more… at ease around you.”  Darcy raises her eyebrows in disbelief.  “We think that another visit or two with Loki might make him a little more compliant.”

 

“Compliant?” Thor asks, a look of confusion.  “What would you have him do?”

 

“Not take over the world again, for a start,” Clint mutters.  Natasha nudges him in the arm.

 

“We’ve been picking up a strange reading from space,” Agent Hill adds.  “It’s not Asgardian or any other known signal.  We think it might have something to do with Loki.”

 

“So, what?” Darcy asks.  “You want me to try and get answers out of him?”

 

“Not strictly speaking,” Natasha says.  “Just… loosen him up a little.”

 

“I don’t think I – ” Darcy begins, but Fury cuts her off.

 

“We’re just asking you to try, Miss Lewis.  That’s all.”

 

Darcy glances over at Jane and Erik.  They both look concerned, but Thor is smiling at her and if Thor likes the idea then Jane likes (or at least agrees to) the idea and Erik, though worried, knows when he is outvoted.  So does Darcy for that matter.  She sighs.

 

“Okay,” she says.  “I’ll try.”

 

“Excellent,” Fury replies.  “Dismissed.”

 

Fury heads out, followed by Maria and the Avengers.  Bruce gives her a small, reassuring smile as he passes her by and Steve says, “I think it’s really brave that you’re doing this, Miss Lewis.”

 

Thor, Jane and Erik are last and they all approach with smiles (some more sincere than others).

 

“Darcy,” Thor says, “I see you’re holding a plate of pancakes.”

 

“Yes, Thor,” she sighs.  “You can have them.”  She decides not to tell him they had been on the floor, but then she wonders if he would even care.  He takes the plate from her with an excited grin.

 

“Oh, Darcy,” Jane says, hugging her.  “I’m so sorry.”

 

“It’s okay,” Darcy murmurs.

 

“No, it’s not,” Erik replies.  “He is dangerous, Darcy.”  Erik puts his hands on her shoulders and looks her in the eye.  “Don’t let him get inside your head,” he tells her.  “Don’t let him get too close.”

 

Darcy nods in response.  “Okay.”

 

They all file out of the debriefing room and Darcy absently follows them back to the lab.  In the sterile laboratory she can smell the events of the morning still on her – maple syrup and butter and leather and musk.  She shudders.

 

It’s times like these that make her wish her life was just a little more normal.


	3. tell me, we both matter, don't we?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is somewhat shorter than the others, but I felt I had reached the perfect place at which to end it and didn't want to ruin it. Please forgive me!
> 
> As always, I greatly appreciate your comments and reviews, so keep them coming!

Loki rolls onto his side and stares at the empty table.  He wonders if the girl knows she’s being used by SHIELD, by Thor.  Sent like a lamb to a slaughter, dangled on the end of a rope as bait, as redemption and salvation.  Oh, that stupid girl…

 

She’ll be broken by the end of this.

 

Loki shuts his eyes and reaches for his magic.  He can feel it, but not like before when it was always at the tips of his fingers, ready to be discharged with barely a thought.  His punishment on Asgard was… thorough.  It had broken him in myriad ways, but the loss he most deeply felt was his magic.  It was still there, deep inside of him, but it had been shattered; all that remained was fragments floating through his consciousness.  He tried desperately to pull them back together, to mend them, but every time he tried he found himself grasping at nothingness.  His powers, his very inner self, slipped through the tendrils of his mind like water through a sieve.   He wanted to cry out in anguish, scream and rage and rail against the injustice of it all.  Against Odin, Thor, SHIELD, Thanos.  They were the real villains, not he.

 

And this girl – this poor, silly girl – she would have to bear his wrath.  Because that is what they sent her for, that is what they sent her to be.  A whipping boy, an effigy, a target.

 

So that’s how he’ll treat her.

 

He spends all night trying to mend his magic and he is successful – at least somewhat.  He manages to make a double of himself for a few minutes before he nearly passes out from exertion.

 

Progress.  Enough to scare the girl, in any case.  Maybe soon he’ll be able to cast his projections further, outside of his cell and haunt his idiotic captors lest they think they’re safe.

 

Loki closes his eyes, and steadies his breathing; if Thanos is waiting for him on the other side, so be it.  Loki has a plan.

 

Loki feels his mind slip away from his white room and cross stars, planets, galaxies, until he arrives at the cold and barren stone to which Thanos has been exiled.

 

Upon Loki’s first arrival, The Other had explained to Loki that this desolate rock was the bottom of the universe – the very edge of space and time itself.  Loki knew he had fallen for an immeasurable amount of time, whole galaxies could’ve collapsed and reformed during his fall from Asgard. 

 

When he had finally landed he was wrecked beyond repair; he had had lifetimes to ruminate on all the injustices he had sufferd at the hands of Odin and Thor.  Of how he had been lied to, used, scorned, belittled, and even pushed off the edge of the broken Bifrost.  Loki was vengeful, lost and eager to make a deal – any deal – which would return him to his rightful place.

 

Thanos had offered him that deal, and little by little, Loki’s sanity had begun to unravel.  The scepter called to him, but tied him to both Thanos and the Tesseract.  It pulled him in both directions – the Tesseract whispered to him of power and desire and fulfillment – Thanos reminded him of the painful consequences of his failure.  Loki might very well have been completely torn into two if it weren’t for his unadulterated anger, his all-encompassing rage.  He had clung to it as much for salvation as for purpose, and he didn’t let go.  Not when he was locked in that monster’s cage, not when the Man of Iron had threatened him, not when the invading Chitauri had become too great too control and Thor had offered him reprieve, and not when Odin was administering his punishment.

 

It was all he had – Loki and his ire – and that’s all he needs.

 

“Welcome, Asgardian,” The Other croaks.  “Have you come to bargain for your life?”

 

“I have merely to come to make an offer,” Loki replies.  “One that your master would be ill-advised to ignore.”

 

The Other chuckles.  “If it is anything like your last bargain, he will hardly waste his time.  You are not known for keeping your promises.”

 

Loki snarls.  “Do not blame your Chitauri’s lacking fortitude on me.  I did uphold my end of the bargain, but you failed to follow through on yours.”  The Other growls at him, but Loki presses on.

 

“Now the scepter is destroyed, and the Tesseract has returned to Asgard, kept safe by a might which you could never hope to overcome.  Unless…”

 

“Unless what?” The Other asks, lips curling into a sneer.  “We spare you from your torture, from your promised fate?”

 

“Something like that,” Loki smirks, circling The Other.  “I know how you can reach Asgard and, with my guidance, retrieve the Tesseract.”  Loki stops his pacing, standing face to face with The Other.  “All I ask is that you spare me from whatever unbearable punishment you have planned for me – ”

 

“Of course the bastard Prince of Asgard would weasel his way out of anything he deemed unsavory,” The Other interjects.  Loki ignores him.

 

“ _And_ grant me the pleasure of dealing with my father and brother on my own terms.”  Loki grins.  “Do we have a deal?”

 

“Yes,” hisses The Other, extending his hand.  Loki takes it and immediately feels his skin burn.  When he pulls his hand away, there is red brand mark on his palm, a crude rendering of the Tesseract with Saturn’s rings around it – Thanos’ symbol.  Slowly the marking fades, leaving his white skin unblemished.  The deal is done.

 

“And make no mistake,” The Other says.  “Thanos does not take kindly to repeated failure.”

 

With that Loki flies back through the galaxies, returning once more to his dreary cell.  

 

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy dutifully slings pancake batter onto the griddle as if she were a short order cook at the local diner.  It’s ridiculous, she thinks, that she’s doing this for a crazy god who, only a few months ago, destroyed most of Manhattan.    

 

SHIELD had let her use the communal kitchen (though actually it was Tony’s kitchen, since he owned the building) to prepare a homemade pancake breakfast for the resident super villain.  And you know what?  She’s going to make the most goddamned delicious pancakes ever because she would be damned if Mr. Burdened-with-Glorious-Purpose didn’t think they were up to snuff.

 

“Hey, Lewis,” Tony enters the kitchen and approaches the stove.  “Pancakes look good.”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Don’t see why you bother, though.”

 

Darcy shrugs.

 

“I mean, it’s not like he cares, right?”  Tony reaches for a fork and stabs a pancake from the pile of freshly cooked ones.  “You could be feeding him slop for all he cares; it’s not like he’s going to eat it.”  Tony puts the pancake on another plate and drenches it in syrup.

 

“He asked for them,” Darcy replies, giving Tony a dirty look.

 

“I bet he did.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, just as Tony takes a bite.

 

He shrugs, chews, swallows.   “Nothing,” he says.  “Just that it seems a little ridiculous for some kind of alien-god hybrid to be so hung up on pancakes.”

 

“Thor likes them,” Darcy says.  “A lot.”

 

“Yeah, well, that’s Thor,” Tony replies.  “He likes pretty much everything a lot.  Loki, on the other hand…”

 

“Tony, what are you trying to say?”

 

Tony sighs and grabs another pancake from the tray, tossing it onto his own plate.  “Nothing, sweetheart.”  He pours more syrup over his plate.  “Just remember that you’re in there to gather info, not to play House with Daddy Loki.”

 

“Daddy Loki?” Darcy scoffs.  “What the fuck is that?”

 

Tony opens his mouth, but closes it again.  He bites his lip, as if he has some other biting remark on the tip of his tongue, but thinks better of it. “You know what?  Just forget I said anything,” Tony says.  He takes his plate and heads for the exit.  “Thanks for the pancakes, by the way.  They’re delicious.”

 

“You’re welcome,” Darcy mutters to his retreating back.  “I totally made them just for you.”

 

She places some of her freshly made (and Stark approved) pancakes on a plate, then puts some butter and syrup on them.  She makes sure she leaves a generous helping for Thor.

 

As Darcy walks down the corridor to Loki’s cell, she feels bile rising in her stomach.  Her fingers start to tremble and she has to stop and take a deep breath.  This wasn’t like last time, when she didn’t know what it would be like.  No, this is so much worse.

 

She remembers the feel of his fingers around her, the slight bruising it caused, the way he had sneered her name and called her stupid, foolish, useless.  Something about his words hurt her more deeply than she cares to admit.    

 

She takes another shaky breath and hopes, prays, that Loki would be better, that he wouldn’t be quite so cruel.

 

_Please, please, don’t let this be as bad last time.  Don’t make me regret this decision.  Please._

* * *

 

_Please._

Loki opens his eyes.

 

_Please, god, I hope it won’t be as bad as before._

Loki looks around the room, searching for the source of the voice.  There is no one.

 

_Please, please, please._

He could hear it as clearly as if someone were right next to him, whispering in his ear. 

 

_Don’t make me regret this._

 

Darcy Lewis.  Loki recognizes it, but can scarcely believe it.

 

She is praying to him.

 


	4. my little dream, working the machine

The girl enters his room holding the same disgusting slop as last time, her voice still ringing in his head.

 

“Stop that!” he yells.

 

She jumps in surprise and the dish goes crashing to the floor.  Darcy immediately bends down to pick it up, and Loki can sense her distress.

 

“Leave it!” he cries, grabbing her roughly by the arm and pulling her upright.  “What have you done?”

 

“I’m sorry,” she says.  “You scared me; I didn’t mean to drop it –”

 

_Please don’t hurt me._

 

“Not that, you stupid girl.”  Loki yanked on her arm sharply.

 

_Stop it!_

 

Loki freezes.  “It can’t be,” he breathes.

 

Darcy tries to pull away from him, and in an instant he has her pinned against the wall, a hand around her throat.

 

“Don’t,” he growls.

 

“I’m sorry,” she chokes.  “I’m sorry.”  She claws at his hands, but he doesn’t relent.

 

_Help me, please._

“Silence!” he says. 

 

_Please, please help._

 

“Be quiet!”

 

Darcy’s eyes are full of fear; her hands are weakening their fight.  Loki realizes she is turning purple – she can’t speak at all.

 

_Loki, please._

**_BE QUIET!_ **

  

Loki releases his grip and Darcy drops to the floor, gasping for breath. 

 

A metallic click sounds throughout the room, and Loki sees the metal vents in the ceiling open.  The gas.

 

Someone pounds at the cell door.  “Miss Lewis?” a man – a SHIELD agent – calls. “Are you all right?  We’re going to gas him.”

 

“N-no,” Darcy chokes.  “It’s okay.  I’m fine.”  She looks up at him, terrified and curious.  “Don’t gas us,” she rasps at the agent outside the door.

 

“Miss Lewis, are you sure?”

 

“Yes,” she replies.  “I’m fine.  You can go.”

 

The agent’s footsteps fade away, and Darcy struggles to her feet. 

 

“I heard you,” she whispers.  “In my head, I heard you.”

 

Loki stares at her, inscrutable.  A moment passes, and then another, before she speaks again.

 

“You told me to be quiet,” she says.  “You yelled it in my head.”

 

“You prayed to me, mortal.”  Loki takes a step toward her; she takes a step back. 

 

“I-I don’t pray,” Darcy says.  “And if I did it certainly wouldn’t be to you.”

 

“Is that so?”  He keeps advancing, and Darcy’s back hits the wall behind her.  Trapped.

 

“Yes, it is,” she replies firmly.  “So stay out of my head.”

 

“Perhaps you don’t understand,” Loki says, and it’s clear that she doesn’t.  How can he use this to his advantage?  “You opened this bridge between us.  And it will remain open until your prayers have been answered.”

 

“But I didn’t pray!” Darcy cries.  “I don’t want anything from you.”

 

“Don’t lie to me,” Loki replies softly.  He lifts a finger and gently strokes her cheek.  “It’s all right, you know.  I would be glad to answer them; I won’t make you regret it.” 

 

At hearing her own words in his voice, Darcy glances up at him, “How…?”

 

“Ah, that is the power of prayer, Miss Lewis.  A prayer to a god who listens.”

 

He turns away from Darcy, giving her some much needed space.  With a nonchalant wave of his hand, the broken dish and its contents disappear entirely.  It strains him slightly, this bit of magic, but it is a necessary effort.  For very, very slowly, he feels Darcy swaying to his side.

 

“I apologize for how I’ve treated you,” he says quietly.  “It has been many centuries since I, or any Aesir, have heard a genuine prayer.  One made with one’s entire heart, rather than base desire.”  He turns around to face her again, and he’s not surprised to find that she hasn’t moved from her spot against the wall.  “Please forgive me.”  He stares at her, as if waiting for an answer.  It takes some moments, but she finally finds words.

 

“I – I don’t know,” she replies. 

 

“Do think on it, Miss Lewis.”  He grins, not unkindly, but it’s hard for his mouth to remember the correct way to express kindness.  “I would be most willing to grant you your prayer.”

 

She stares at him for a long, silent moment.  She is scared, he can tell, but she is also confused.  And, Loki thinks, more than a little intrigued.

 

“I should go,” she says finally, and slips out the door.

 

* * *

 

 

In the hallway, Darcy finally catches her breath.

 

_Prayer?_

 

She doesn’t even believe in – in whatever it is that Loki is.  An alien?  A Norse god?  A crazy person?  All of the above?

 

Yes, definitely all of the above.  But that doesn’t mean he has the power to answer her prayer – if she had even made one, which she totally hadn’t.

 

A SHIELD agent rounds the corner.  “You need to be debriefed,” he says.

 

“Yeah, I figured,” Darcy sighs, and follows the agent to the conference room.

 

* * *

 

 

“You don’t strike me as the religious type.”

 

Tony is the first to speak upon her arrival.  She’s glad for it; at least it breaks the ice.  Jane and Erik aren’t there – probably getting lost in their freaky science – so it’s just her and the Avengers.  Unfortunately, most of the Avengers are staring daggers at her, and Tony looks like he is about to say, ‘I told you so.’ 

 

“I’m not,” Darcy replies.

 

“Then you want to tell me what the hell all that was about?” Fury asks, and she can feel him glaring at her behind his eye patch. 

 

“I don’t know!” Darcy cries.  “Why don’t you ask Thor?  Loki said people prayed to them all the time!”

 

Everyone’s eyes snap to the God of Thunder, who looks somewhat sheepish.

 

“Your people have not prayed to mine in years,” Thor says, almost defensively.  “Indeed you scarcely believed who I was when I first arrived on Midgard.”

 

“From what I hear,” Clint replies, “when you first got here you were wandering around the desert yelling about a hammer.”

 

“Yeah, and you expect us to believe a god can get knocked on his ass by Little Miss Taser over there?” Tony says.  Darcy glares at him before turning to Thor.

 

“It’s okay, Big Guy,” Darcy tells him, patting him on the bicep (it was as close to his shoulder as she could reach).  “Just tell me how to get out of this.”

 

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Thor replies.

 

“What?  Why?”

 

“It is different for everyone… not all prayers are the same.”  Thor sighs.  “And the way one chooses to answer it can… vary.”

 

“I’m not going to like where this is going, am I?” Fury says, ripping the words right out of Darcy’s own mouth.

 

“Most often we require a simple offering from a supplicant,” Thor continues.  “But Loki… he didn’t receive prayers very often, so he, uh, made them special.”  Thor shifted uncomfortably, clearly stalling so he wouldn’t have to spit out some terrible news that Darcy knew would doom her for eternity.

 

“Jesus, Fabio, just spit it out already,” Tony says, beating Darcy to the punch.

 

“Instead of demanding a small offering, Loki would give the supplicant a choice – he could refuse their request and leave them with no recourse, or carry out their request, so long as they agreed to perform an unknown favor on Loki’s behalf.”  Thor sees Darcy’s stricken face and adds, “Oftentimes it was nothing more than giving him food or shelter for a time, but sometimes…”

 

“Sometimes what?” Fury demands.

 

“My brother is cunning,” Thor replies.  “I know that when he wanted something… less savory done, he would find someone else to do it.”

 

“Oh my God, what is he, the Godfather?” Darcy cries.  She suddenly pictures Loki in a suit, sitting behind a large oak desk saying, ‘I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.’  She shudders.  Everyone knows what happens when you refuse.  And she really didn’t want to find a horse’s head in her bed.

 

“Godfather?” Thor asks, and clearly no one has made Thor watch The Godfather Parts I and II – something which needed to be remedied immediately.  “Is that anything like the Allfather?” 

 

On second thought, the Michael-Fredo thing might hit a little too close to home.

 

“In any case,” Fury says quickly, curtailing Tony’s explanation of Coppola’s classics, “Miss Lewis has been compromised.  She will no longer have contact with Loki.”

 

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief.  It was over.  _Thank God._

 

_You’re welcome._

Darcy gasps.

 

“Are you all right?” Steve asks, and she feels several pairs of eyes upon her.

 

And Darcy, like a deer in the headlights, freezes.  _Should I tell them?  I should tell them._

_Don’t say anything._

And Darcy finds she can only smile and say, “Yeah.”  She swallows, attempting to calm her nerves.  Whatever is going on with her and Loki, she knows it’s not good.  “Um, I just have one question though.”

 

“And what’s that?” Fury replies.

 

“How can someone accidentally pray?”

 

* * *

 

 

In his blank cell, Loki ponders the same question.  It has been so long – too long – since Loki has heard a prayer.  Centuries before when the Aesir were worshipped by Vikings as the gods they were, prayers issued from Midgard daily.  Loki, unsurprisingly, had fewer than most, but as if to make up for it his were often the most intriguing.  It was never anything as mundane as “Help me fell this beast for supper” or “Let me win this maiden’s hand.”  Loki remembers his supplications fondly; always they were dangerous, deceitful or otherwise fraught with mischief.  He tried to recall them clearly, but they were all a jumble in his mind – no doubt an effect of his broken magic.  He could hear the past prayers floating through his head, the voices of greedy, ambitious men, and the more he strained to make sense of them, the more muddled they became until he couldn’t shut them off at all.  Wishes and prayers streamed through his mind, snippets of desires that were granted, floating around inside his head, dancing in messy circles.

 

 

_Please, Lord Loki_

_some deadly beast                                                                                                                                          my neighbor_

_send him                                                                                           kill him_

_so that I may_

_crown myself king of it                     catch him_

_the village and                                                                                              the rotten thief and_

_lay it to waste                                                                                                                                    bed his wife_                                                                                                                

 

_Don’t make me regret this!_

 

And finally, the prayer he can recall with any clarity remains – Darcy Lewis’s voice rings and rings in his head.  He must find a way to shut it off.

 

He can sense her constantly, a niggling at the back his brain – all of her anxiety, fear, paranoia, relief is felt by Loki too.  And when she hears his name he hears it too, and then she does something Loki has been waiting for since he heard her first whispered words in his mind.  She acknowledges him – true, not outright – but Loki is good enough at manipulation and word games to stretch her scared utterance to his favor.  He is a god by Midgardian standards, and if she address “god” whichever it may be, he has enough of a claim on her that he can take it for himself.  He is a god, yes – her god, now.

 

_You’re welcome._

 

And it’s enough to scare her.  Enough to keep her quiet.

 

It matters not when she is commanded to have no more contact with him.  If their connection remains open – which it will as long as the girl is naïve enough to believe him – she will be drawn back to him like a moth to a flame.  Loki smiles slowly, a complacent grin adorning his face. 

 

His plan is coming together even more spectacularly than he could have ever anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I love hearing what you like (and don't like), especially because I tried something new in this chapter. My formatting didn't quite turn out the way I intended, but I think it still works within the context of the story. Let me know what you think!


	5. let me in through your encryption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy, and as always leave me a comment telling me what you think!

Darcy’s ears won’t stop ringing.

 

She has had her iPod earbuds in all day at full blast (which, yeah, it’s not great for your ears or whatever) but she still hasn’t been able to drown out the voice inside her head.  She hears his whispers and promises, and she knows he must be lying – _he must be –_ but the voice sounds so sincere.

 

She’s back at her apartment, staring at herself in the mirror.  She looks the same as she ever did, though she can see bruises starting to form around her neck.  The markings are sobering; they remind her that Loki can’t be trusted.  Duh, Darcy, he’s definitely one hundred percent a bad guy and no matter what he says it’s going to end badly.  Very badly.

 

Music filters into her ears from her iPod – it’s been on shuffle all day and the next song (whether by mere chance or divine intervention) is both fitting and inappropriate.

 

_Human beings in a mob_

 

But she lets it play anyway.

 

_What’s a mob to a king?_

 

The beat pounds and she closes her hands around her ears as if she could somehow trap the music inside her head.

 

_What’s a king to a god?_

And forget about Loki and his promises and her prayers.

 

_What’s a god to a nonbeliever?_

 

Maybe he would get the hint.

_Who don’t believe in anything_

 

Darcy hears a faint chuckle; she rips her earbuds out and turns to look behind her.

 

No one.

 

The song plays on, a weak and tinny sound issuing from the device on the floor.

 

_No church in the wild_

  

* * *

 

 

There was once a time when Loki and Thor were the closest of brothers, the best of friends.  And Loki, his mind a tattered mess, often can’t help but recall those days before suppressing them quickly into the depths of his heart.  Every time he sees Thor it’s a painful reminder of what he used to be, when he thought he was a true son of Odin and had people who loved and cared for him.  When he wasn’t a monster, but a prince – when he wasn’t cursed, but blessed.

 

“Brother!”  Loki’s cell door opens with a forceful clang, and Thor enters, all might and determination.  Loki fights to keep a sneer off his face.

 

“You must stop this immediately!” Thor cries, slamming the door behind him.

 

“Stop what?” Loki asks nonchalantly; he doesn’t even deign to rise from his chair.

 

“This nonsense with the Lady Darcy,” Thor replies.  “It is madness.”

 

“You know very well the bonds of a prayer, or have you forgotten in all these years hence?”

 

“Of course not, but Loki, she is only a child!” Thor says.  “She knows not what she has done.  You must end this!”

 

“No.”

 

“I beg of you – ”

 

“You know I cannot,” Loki sneered.  “Or has all the time spent on this pathetic realm drained you of your meager knowledge.”  Loki rises from his seat.  “Your Lady Darcy has, unwittingly or not, entered into an ancient agreement with me.  We are bonded; it is done.  The only way to end it would be to fulfill each other’s wishes or…” 

 

“Loki, no.”

 

“I know you have not the stomach or the heart to end either the girl’s life or mine.”  Loki glances at his brother disdainfully.  “At least not directly.”

 

“If harm should ever come to you, you know that I would – ”

 

“You would what?” Loki cries.  “What would you do that has not already been done?”  Loki approaches Thor, his eyes wide, his fury unchecked.  “Would you suffer as I have suffered?  Would you fall through the abyss until your mind is shattered and your body broken?  Would you make a deal for your life in exchange for your sanity?” 

 

Loki pauses; his face – apoplectic with rage – suddenly calms, but his eyes continue to seethe like the sea before a storm.  “No,” he sneers.  “You would never understand.  What could you possibly do, _Brother_ , for the monster you call your kin?”

 

Thor reaches for his brother slowly, as if approaching a skittish animal.  “Loki, what has happened to you?”  Thor’s hands rest on his brother’s shoulders.  “Tell me, and I will put it right.”

 

“You wish to put it right?” Loki asks softly.  He removes Thor’s hands from his person with barely disguised disgust.  “Then bring me the girl.”

 

“You know I cannot.”

 

“Then you are as useless as ever.”

 

* * *

 

“The signal is getting closer,” Jane says as she pours over her calculations.  “If we can find the right dimensional latitude, then we might be able to isolate it better from the background radiation.”

 

“But there are millions, no, billions, of possible coordinates we have to run through,” Banner replies.  “Without any feasible way to narrow it down, we’re basically running blind.”

 

Jane sighs and takes a sip of her lukewarm coffee.  “The signal is so faint already, our equipment is straining to pick it up.  Thor says that there are people on Asgard who are much more attuned to these things.”

 

“I don’t suppose they’d be willing to help us out?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Jane admits, despondent.  “Apparently Heimdall the Gatekeeper might.”

 

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there.”

 

“He never leaves his post for anything,” Jane sighs.

 

Banner removes his glasses and rubs his eyes.  “Back to the drawing board, I guess.”

 

Jane shoots Banner a furtive glance.  “There’s Loki.”

 

Banner gives her the look – one that wouldn’t have been out of place on Darcy’s face.

 

“This isn’t right!” Jane cries.  “We have to find a way to get Loki to help us.”

 

“Good luck with that,” Banner replies.  “The only person he talks to is Thor, and that’s on a good day.”

 

Jane drops her head on her desk in defeat.  “I need more coffee,” she mutters.  “Darcy?” she calls.  “Can you make a fresh pot?”  Jane picks her head up when no one responds.

 

“I think Darcy went home for the day,” Banner says.  “After her… meeting with Loki.”

 

“Oh, right.”  Jane pauses for a moment, thoughtful.  “You don’t think Loki would tell her, would he?”

 

Banner shoots her a look – _You really want to go there?_   Clearly he’s been around Darcy (or Tony) for far too long. 

 

“I’ll talk to her,” Jane says, full of determination.  “And Fury.  I won’t make her do anything she doesn’t want to, but I have to try.”

 

* * *

 

Darcy abandons her iPod in favor of watching a loud, raunchy movie in the hopes it would take her mind off the unwelcome presence of Loki.  It works, for a little while at least, but there’s always something niggling in the far depths of her brain.  Like a tumor that grows from attention.

 

As her movie comes to an end, Darcy hears a knock at the door. 

 

“Darcy?”  Jane’s voice issues from the other side.  “Are you okay?”

 

Darcy opens the door and lets Jane in.  “I’m fine,” Darcy says, desperately wishing it to be true.

 

“Good,” Jane replies.  “I know what happened earlier must’ve been terrible.”

 

Darcy shrugs, sitting down on the couch.  Jane follows suit.

 

“I’m so sorry, Darcy,” Jane says.  “I’m so sorry we let you do that.  We – I shouldn’t have let Thor talk you into it.  Erik warned me about it, but Thor said it might help and, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t think it would be that bad.”

 

“It’s not your fault,” Darcy tells her.  She wraps her arm around Jane in a comforting manner, though Darcy feels a pang of resentment at this gesture.  Shouldn’t it be the other way around?  “I volunteered.  I agreed to it.”

 

“For a minute it seemed as though it was going well,” Jane continues.  “Thor was so happy – ”

 

“I bet he was,” Darcy muttered bitterly. _Where had that come from?_

 

But Jane presses on as she didn’t hear it.  “You know how he feels about Loki and I had no idea – Thor didn’t either – that something like this could happen.”

 

“You could fill the universe with things Thor doesn’t know.”  Darcy snaps her mouth shut.  She didn’t mean to say that.  She didn’t mean to think that either.

 

Thankfully, Jane plows on, oblivious.  “Right, Thor couldn’t have possibly known.  I mean, he told me that humans had stopped praying when the Viking culture died out and really, Loki didn’t even get that many prayers to begin with so it’s really shocking that this is happening all of sudden with you and him.”

 

Darcy side-eyes Jane for a moment.  The scientist suspiciously sounds like she’s winding up for a big pitch – like the one she gave Tony to let her borrow parts of his R&D department.  As soon as she realizes this, something hot coils in the pit of Darcy’s stomach.

 

“And I know the last thing you want to do is go back there…” Jane begins hesitantly, glancing to her right at Darcy.

 

“Right.”  Darcy can feel something burning its way through her abdomen, up into her heart.  It hurts, but Darcy doesn’t mind it.  Her heartbeats increase; adrenaline flows through her blood.  She clenches her fists.

 

“But Thor said it was amazing that you got Loki to talk to you at all,” Jane pauses, and takes a deep breath.  “And really, honestly, Darcy, I wouldn’t ask you to do this if we had any other option, but this is really important and Director Fury agreed with me and I promise nothing bad will happen again because I’ll make Thor go with you, but please, please, please, I just need you to ask Loki one thing.”

 

“And what would that be?” Darcy breathes, and any second now she knows something’s going to snap inside her.  And she was far too eager to find out exactly what it would be.

 

“Ask him if he would help us trace this signal we’ve been picking up,” Jane replies.  “It’s getting closer every day and we don’t know if it’s friendly.  After the Chitauri Fury thinks we can’t be too careful.”

 

“The Chitauri,” Darcy repeats slowly.  “The things that Loki brought here.”

 

Jane hesitates, finally slowing down enough and actually looking at her friend.  “Darcy, are you okay?”  Darcy is trembling and pallid; beads of sweat dot her forehead and even though it’s only been a day, it looks as though she hasn’t slept for a week.  “Darcy?” Jane asks again.

 

Darcy vehemently shakes her head.  “I can’t go back there, Jane.  You don’t know what it was like, what he – I can’t do it.”

 

“Darcy, please, just one – ”

 

“No!” Darcy cries, standing up.  “You don’t understand!  You’d never understand!  You and _Thor_ ,” Darcy sneers – she actually sneers.  Darcy can’t recall every sneering in her life.  “You would have us do whatever you wanted without thinking what it really meant.  You use us for your own gain and then toss us aside!”

 

“Us?” Jane asks, her face an odd mix of confusion and horror.  “Who is us?”

 

Darcy blinks.  “Me – we – the Royal We, I mean, Us.”  Darcy replies.  “The Royal Us.”

 

“Darcy, if he… if something is bothering you, you can tell me,” Jane says slowly.  “I’m your friend.”

 

“Are you?” Darcy asks.

 

“Darcy, you know I am.  I want to help you.”

 

“You can’t help me,” Darcy replies quietly, but no less angrily.  “I think you should go.”

 

Jane stands, perturbed.  “Okay.”  She grabs her coat and walks to the door.  “I’m sorry, Darcy,” she says.  “I shouldn’t have asked that of you.”

 

Darcy says nothing.

 

“If you need anything, call me, okay?”  And with that, Jane leaves, quietly shutting the door behind her.

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy cries into her pillow for what seems like hours.  She’s thoroughly worn out by the time she stops, yet can’t sleep.

 

Darcy is restless, and gets up from her bed to pace back and forth across her room.  She enters the bathroom, turns on the taps for the tub and walks away to let it fill up.  Darcy enters the living room, walks purposefully toward the couch, and then rips its pillows off and throws them across the room.  One hits the window and rattles the pane.  Darcy almost wishes it would break.

 

She returns to the bathroom and shuts off the water before it’s even reached halfway.  She drains it all, unsure of why she wanted a bath in the first place. 

 

She wants to go for a walk, but she’s tired.  She’s hungry, but her stomach churns until she’s queasy.  She’s cold, but can’t bear to confine herself under mountains of blankets.

 

And always that thing at the back of her mind – it screams for her attention.

 

It’s unnerving how she dresses almost completely before realizing what she’s doing.  Pants, boots, a sweater, a scarf, and her coat.  Darcy decides she is going for a walk.  And despite hating herself for it, she knows exactly where she’s going to end up.

 

She tries to stop herself, and she almost cartoonishly clings to the threshold of her apartment before giving in to the invisible force driving her.  She stalks down the stairs in her apartment building, grasping the cold metal railing tight enough to burn her hand with the friction.  She won’t go, but she must.  She’s lost her willpower, and now must retrieve it from the thief who stole it.

 

It’s past midnight, and the air is bitingly cold.  The wind pushes at her from in between skyscrapers, as if urging her on, pushing her to go faster.  And soon enough she arrives at the revamped Stark Tower – now secretively SHIELD HQ.

 

Her security pass lets her in without a problem.  She descends into the subterranean levels of SHIELD, down to Loki’s cell.  She knows there must be guards stationed around somewhere, but she sees no one.  And not even JARVIS has said hello.

 

Is it Loki’s influence, or is she just lucky?  Darcy knows the answer to that and nearly laughs out loud.

 

Absolutely nothing about this situation could be called lucky.

 

The corridor is quiet and dark, no sign of any patrols or guards.  Darcy makes a determined beeline for Loki’s cell door.  She swipes her badge knowing that it should have no chance of opening to door, but that it will anyway.  Clearly the God of Mischief makes his own luck.

 

The door slides open silently, and the bright white lights of Loki’s room temporarily blind her.  She blinks a few times and her eyes adjust.  Loki is standing in the center of the room, smirking at her.

 

“Ah, Miss Lewis, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

 

Darcy takes a breath and looks him square in the eye.  “I want you to answer my prayers.”

 

Loki’s laughter rings throughout the hallway, reverberating against the metals walls and surrounding Darcy with the sounds of malicious glee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song lyrics from No Church in the Wild by Jay-Z and Kanye West feat. Frank Ocean and The Dream.


	6. the dark is too hard to beat

She sits on his bed and stares at him standing in the middle of the room. 

 

“Now what?” she asks, after an eternity of silence.

 

“Now we wait.”

 

He’s done nothing, said nothing, since she laid out her plans and he acquiesced.  It makes her nervous, but there’s nothing to be done.  If this will ever end then she has to play his game.  And win.

 

She hears sharp footsteps in the corridor outside, no doubt a team of agents who’ve been alerted to the fact that Loki’s cell is wide open.

 

Loki turns to her, mischievous smile on his face.  “Are you going to tell them, or shall I?”

 

Darcy glares at him.  “I will.  I doubt they’d believe you anyway.”

 

“My supplicant is quite astute,” he says.  “How very lucky for me.”  Darcy can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

 

SHEILD agents rush in, guns drawn.  Five men and women in nondescript suits form a semicircle by the entranceway and point their guns at Loki.

 

“Loki, hands up!” one shouts. 

 

Loki slowly raises his hands, rolling his eyes at Darcy.

 

“Down on the ground now!” another yells, and Loki sighs as he sinks to his knees, and then lies on his stomach.

 

“Miss Lewis, are you alright?” an agent asks, inching her way to Darcy.  “Has he hurt you in any way?”

 

“Yes, Miss Lewis,” Loki hisses.  “Have I hurt you in any way?”

 

“N-No,” Darcy replies.  “No, he hasn’t.  You can let him up; he won’t hurt anyone.”

 

“Miss Lewis, are you sure?”

 

“Yes, I’m sure,” she says.  “Let him up.”

 

“Miss Lewis?” the agent asks.

 

Darcy holds her hand out to Loki.  “Don’t hurt him.”  Loki takes her hand and she helps him to his feet.  “He’s with me.”

 

He looks at her and smiles.  “Thank you, Miss Lewis.”

 

“Darcy,” she breathes.

 

“Thank you, Darcy.”

 

The female agent looks on in confusion.  “Call the Director,” she says.

 

* * *

 

Loki has to hand it to his captors; the speed and efficiency with which they rally the Avengers is quite impressive.  They are all gathered in a nondescript conference room – white walls (as if he hadn’t seen enough of those) and a metal table and chairs.  He sits in one, handcuffed and gagged; Darcy sits to his left looking nervous and toying with the hem of her shirt.

 

“Does someone want to tell me what the hell is going on?” Fury asks – nay, demands.  “Miss Lewis, what exactly were you doing in Loki’s cell tonight?”

 

“I – we made a deal.”  She raises her head to meet the glares of the Avengers.  Well, most of them anyway.  Thor looks both confused and concerned, an expression he makes regularly whenever Loki is around.  And the Man of Iron looks faintly amused, another regular expression of his.  It’s all so predictable and Loki is miserably bored waiting for this pointless meeting to end and for his and Darcy’s work to begin.

 

“And what kind of deal is that?”

 

“Well, like Thor said,” Darcy replies while trying to remain composed under the weight of everyone’s stares.  “Since I prayed – _accidentally,_ I might add – to Loki, he has to do what I say.  Mostly.”

 

“Mostly?”

 

Darcy took a deep breath.  “I asked him to help Jane, and I made him promise not to hurt anyone or try to escape.”

 

“And you believe him?”

 

“The bond of a prayer is unbreakable,” Thor interjects.  “If they have entered into the bond then Loki must uphold his end of the bargain.  And Darcy must uphold hers.”

 

“Really?” Fury says.  “So, Miss Lewis, what’s your end of the bargain?”

 

“I just… owe him a favor,” Darcy replies. 

 

“Not a sexual one I hope,” Tony says.  Both Darcy and Loki glare at him.

 

“No, not a sexual one,” Darcy snaps.  “Look, Loki can explain better than I can, if you let him.”

 

Fury rubs his temples and sighs.  “Fine.”

 

Darcy tentatively reaches for Loki; he remains completely still as her fingers brush his hair out of the way.  She undoes the clasp and the muzzle falls off.  She removes it and sets it on the table. 

 

“Thank you, Darcy,” Loki says softly. 

 

“Brother,” Thor booms, “is what the Lady Darcy said true?”

 

Loki glares at him.  “Darcy has asked me to assist your woman.  She issued a prayer and I have answered it.  We are bound.”

 

“Bound?” Fury asks.

 

“Did you brainwash her like you did me, you sick son of a bitch?” Barton asks angrily.

 

“I did no such thing to her,” Loki replies smoothly.  “Nor to you, I simply freed your mind from the inanities of your feeble Midgardian consciousness.”

 

Barton lunges for Loki, the redhead next to him barely able to restrain him.

 

“Calm yourself, Barton,” Loki says.  “There’s no need for your ire.  If you wish to suffer under the weight of your own psyche then I will leave you to it.”

 

“You piece of – ” Barton breaks free of the redhead’s hold and launches himself toward Loki.  Suddenly a wave of long brown hair is in front of him and Barton stops short.  Darcy leans over the table, blocking Loki from Barton’s attack.

 

“Stop!” Darcy cries.  “He promised not to hurt anyone, and at least be _civil_.”  Darcy shoots him a glare.

 

“I have been nothing but civil,” Loki says.  “Hardly the same can be said about Agent Barton.”

 

“How can you trust him?” Barton asks incredulously.

 

“Loki,” Darcy murmurs.  “Tell them what you told me.”

 

“If either Darcy or I break the bond of a prayer then our lives become forfeit.”

  
“Forfeit?” The Captain asks.  “As in dead?”

 

“In a way,” Loki replies.  He raises his right hand (though still shackled to his left) as if swearing an oath.  “May Darcy be punished by the god whose promise she did not fulfill, and may I lose my place in Valhalla should I go back on my word.”

 

“So let me get this straight,” Tony interrupts, his eyes flicking between Darcy and Loki, the corner of his mouth upturned.  “If Darcy breaks her promise Loki gets to kill her, and if Renaissance Man over here breaks his he just doesn’t get to go to Viking heaven?  Don’t you think that ship already sailed after his whole world domination phase?”

 

“Being denied a place in Valhalla is greatest dishonor for an Aesir.  He will never be able to join the most honored of the Asgard, and remain disgraced in the depths of Hel for all eternity.”

 

“It still seems a bit disproportionate to me,” Tony says.

 

“Look,” Darcy begins, “you guys need to figure out the source of this signal or whatever.  Loki’s agreed to help.  Everyone wins.”

 

“Except for you,” Banner says softly.

 

Darcy looks up at him, adjusting her glasses.  “What?”

 

“There’s nothing in this for you,” Bruce explains.  “And now you owe Loki a favor and you don’t even know what it is.”

 

“I assure you and Darcy that any favor I ask of her will not be anything she deems unsavory,” Loki replies.  He glances at Stark.  “Though I cannot speak to her sexual proclivities.”

 

“Brother!” Thor cries.  “Enough!  You will not impugn the Lady Darcy’s honor any further!”

 

Darcy groans and buries her head in her hands.  “Oh my god.”

 

“Do not take my name in vain, Darcy,” Loki says.  “Flattering though it is.”

 

Fury slams his fist on the table.  “Okay, people, listen up.  Loki will help Dr. Foster during the day and spend the rest of his time in his cell.  There will be no contact between Miss Lewis and Loki outside of the lab and if any of Loki’s actions are deemed combative then he will be locked in his cell 24/7 with no outside contact whatsoever.”  He looks around at everyone in the room, his gaze landing on Darcy and Loki.  “Have I made myself clear?”

 

“Absolutely,” Loki grinned.

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy sips on a cup of very strong coffee while entering the lab.  She hasn’t slept at all and it’s almost nine in the morning.  Loki is already there, but Jane is still absent.  No doubt she’s being briefed on the turn of events from last night, along with Erik.  Darcy winces; Erik would not be happy about this.  Not at all.  She remembers his warning to her, and thinks even at that point it was already too late for her. 

 

She is totally fucked and everyone knows it.  Especially Loki.

 

She glances over at him as he inspects all of the equipment in the lab, poking and prodding it with a look of refined disdain.   In the hand not holding her coffee, she has a large plate of pancakes.  She’s exhausted and starving, but she still had some leftover ingredients in Stark’s kitchen from the last pancake debacle.  So she had decided to fire up the griddle and made some breakfast. 

 

Darcy sits at the table and commences with syrup pouring; she makes sure to cover every square inch in maple syrup, her stomach grumbling loudly.

 

“More of the same slop?” Loki asks.

 

Darcy shrugs.  “Maybe you don’t like it, but I’m starving.”  She digs in with abandon, savoring the syrupy deliciousness of a well-made (if not terribly well-balanced) breakfast. 

 

Suddenly, Loki’s sitting beside her.  “I’m hungry,” he tells her.

 

Darcy’s fork stops halfway to her mouth.  “And that’s my problem, how?”

 

“Well, you were so intent on feeding me before,” Loki replies. 

 

“You had your chance,” Darcy says.  “This is my breakfast.”

 

“I want some.”

 

Darcy shoots him an exasperated glance.  “Is that your favor?”

 

Loki stares at her for a moment, eyebrow raised.  “My, but you are a clever one,” he murmurs.  “No, that is not the favor I would ask of you.  I merely entreat you to explore the kindness of your heart.”

 

Darcy snorts.  “You really do have a way with words,” she says.

 

“They do call me Silvertongue for a reason,” he smirks.

 

“Yeah, well don’t let it go to your head.”  Darcy slides her plate in front of him.  “Here.  My eyes were too big for my stomach.”

 

“Thank you, Darcy,” Loki says and something in the way he says her name makes her toes curl and her stomach twist.

 

“Don’t expect this next time,” she tells him.  “I’m just too tired to listen to you whine.”

 

“I do not whine,” Loki replies stiffly.

 

“Whatever,” she says.  “Enjoy your breakfast.”

 

Loki delicately cuts a bite size piece of pancake and puts it in his mouth.  She watches him as he chews and swallows.  “This isn’t terrible,” he says. 

 

“Thanks.”

 

He eats the rest almost as quickly as Thor did when he first tried them, but Loki has much more self-restraint.  He meticulously cuts every piece and places it in his mouth with sophisticated deliberation.  If she hadn’t known better she would never have guessed that this was his first meal in weeks.  

 

The door to the lab opens and Jane walks in.  “Good morning!”  She enters the lab dripping with a false cheeriness that makes Darcy wince internally.  Jane walks right up to Loki and extends her hand with a very forced smile on her face.  “Thank you for agreeing to help us,” she says. 

 

Loki looks at her hand – his disdain returned.  “You should thank Darcy.  It is her prayer I have answered.”

 

“Right,” Jane replies, withdrawing her hand.  She turns to Darcy.  “Can I talk to you for a minute, outside?”

 

“Sure.”  She follows Jane into the hall.

 

“What are you thinking?” Jane asks once the door closes behind them.

 

“What?” 

 

“Thor told me about this prayer thing with Loki, and it sounds like a terrible idea,” Jane says.

 

“Well, it’s not like we have another choice,” Darcy replies.  “You told me you wanted Loki’s help, so now he’s helping.”

 

“Yeah, but…” Jane trails off, biting her lip.  “I know that I asked you to talk to Loki, but I – I didn’t mean for something like this to happen.”

 

Darcy shrugs.  “Yeah, well it has.”

 

“I’m sorry, Darcy,” she says.  “I’m really, really sorry.”  She wraps her arms around Darcy and Darcy reciprocates.

 

“It’s okay, Jane,” Darcy says.

 

“No it’s not,” Jane mumbles.  “What if he makes you do something terrible?”

 

“He won’t,” Darcy tells her.  “He promised.”

 

Jane pulls back.  “Thor told me some of the things Loki made people do, Darcy.  They weren’t very nice.”

 

Darcy looks down at her shoes.  “Loki and I talked about it.  He basically told me that I was too useless to do anything too awful.”  Jane rolls her eyes.  “I know he’s not really known for telling the truth,” Darcy continues.  “But when he’s honest he really doesn’t pull any punches.”

 

A loud metallic crash sounds from behind the lab door.  Darcy and Jane rush in to see Loki standing over one of Jane’s delicate instruments lying broken on the floor.

 

“My spectroradiometer!” Jane cries.  “It took me forever to calibrate it!”

 

“It was useless,” Loki says.  “Your machine would never be able to accurately read the signal; it was designed completely incorrectly.”

 

“Now we have to start all over!”  Jane starts picking up the pieces and trying to put them back together.

 

“Precisely,” Loki tells her matter-of-factly.  “Your technology is laughable in its quaintness.  We will have to – what is the phrase?  Ah yes, start from scratch.”

 

Darcy groans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's a bit lighter in tone, but we're moving the plot along! I love your comments, please leave them with reckless abandon!


	7. a new horizon, its ephemeral style

_Loki is king and it is everything he thought he wanted, yet it is hardly enough.  He has fulfilled his promise to Thanos and been rewarded; he has minions and subjects and slaves.  The scepter in his hand guides him, and he quells resistance with its simple touch.  His rule is perfect, immaculate, glorious.  Everything is exactly as planned._

_His throne is atop the tallest building in the city, a building that once belonged to his enemies.  He has sent a few of them to their deaths, a few others to distant realms, but a few still exist in the dark corners of this world.  And he is sure one exists, standing before him now._

_“What is your name, girl?” he asks regally, commandingly, the way a king should._

_She kneels and bows her head, her long brown hair nearly touching the floor.  “Darcy, Your Highness,” she replies.  She is young and pretty, but foolish to think this deceit would work._

_“And why have you come here, Darcy?”_

_“To serve you, Your Highness.”_

_“And what service could you possibly offer to me?”_

_“Whatever you desire, Your Highness.”_

_“And what do I desire, Darcy?”_

_She simply smiles at him and stands.  Her fingers reach into a bag she holds at her side.  Slowly she pulls out the head of the redheaded cunt.  Darcy tosses the head at his feet and he stares into the redhead’s dull, lifeless eyes._

_“Yes,” Loki hisses, eyes alight._

_“Is this your favor?”_

_Loki glances sharply at Darcy; she’s still smiling, but now with a menacing edge.  “Darcy?”_

 

* * *

 

 

Darcy wakes up in a cold sweat.  She’s panting and feels the prick of tears in her eyes.  “What the fuck,” she whispers, slowly sinking back into the pillows.  It’s been a week since Loki started working with her and Jane – a long week with lots of condescension and snark and a tiny bit of progress.  After that first disastrous day Loki had helped Jane build new equipment to Loki’s specifications.  The signal is now coming in a little stronger, which makes Jane happy, but Darcy can tell that Loki’s presence is a strain on the poor scientist.

 

Darcy closes her eyes, willing herself to fall asleep and not dream of Loki or severed heads or the weird way she felt kneeling in front of him.  She had felt… good.  She had liked it.  Only in her dream, of course.  Not in real life, not now that she is awake and thinking clearly.  Every time she closes her eyes she sees Loki sitting on a throne and her kneeling before him with a severed head in her hand.

 

It’s four A.M. and Darcy has been tossing and turning for the past hour.  She finally gives up and gets out of bed.  There’s nothing on TV but infomercials, but she has an ironic love of them so she watches one for some kind of outdoor hose thing and in her drowsy haze she seriously considers ordering one, despite her lack of garden or house plants.  Maybe she could use it to hose down people making too much noise on the street below her window.

 

Around six she feels her heart return to its normal rhythm, and her eyelids droop closed.  She slowly drifts off, but as soon as she lets go of her consciousness she sees Loki again on the throne and her eyes fly open.

 

No sleep for Darcy tonight.

 

* * *

 

 

Loki’s captors deliver him to the lab at precisely nine A.M.  Their efficiency is unparalleled, and Loki hates it.  The routine, even after just one week, is stale and SHIELD has absolutely no imagination.  When he gets to the lab Jane is already there, but Darcy is very conspicuously absent. 

 

“Where is your intrepid assistant?” he asks. 

 

“Darcy?” Jane says, looking up from her work.  “I don’t know; she’s usually here by now.”

 

“Yes, making you coffee and picking up after you,” Loki replies, taking a seat in Darcy’s usual chair.

 

Jane replies with an affirmative grunt. 

 

Loki looks at her curiously.  Jane is single-minded to a fault and, Loki has noticed, it often comes at the expense of others.  How much do Darcy’s friends actually care for her?  Do they use her as a cog in their little machine – a cog that spins endlessly without recognition, a cog that is only noticeable in its absence?  Is Darcy being used the same way he would use her?  “Tell me,” he asks, “do you think that’s all she’s good for?”

 

“What?  No, of course not.”  Jane crosses her arms and shoots him a discerning glare.  “Darcy’s good at a lot of things, just not…”

 

“Not what?”

 

“Nothing.  Nevermind,” Jane snaps.  “We’re getting a stronger signal, but we still don’t know what it is.  Any ideas?”

 

_Interesting._   “Of course.”  Loki leans back in his seat, a satisfied smile on his lips.

 

“Well?”

 

“We will wait until Darcy arrives.”

 

“Why?” Jane huffs in indignation.

 

“I hate repeating myself.”

 

Loki spends the next half hour staring at Jane as she uselessly tinkers with her various instruments.  Loki mostly despises her, and Thor’s sickening infatuation with her, but it’s clear that she is not completely witless.  After all, as Thor is so fond of reminding him, she did construct a working version of the Bifrost.  Of course, it’s inelegant and tainted with backwards Midgardian science, but it works nonetheless.  That is something that earns a fraction of Loki’s begrudging respect for her ingenuity – the same ingenuity that will allow Loki to be rid of Thor and Thanos once and for all.

 

One of Jane’s instruments starts beeping and Jane rushes over to it, quickly writing down its readings.  “Oh my god,” she exclaims.  “It’s picked up a set of coordinates!” 

 

Jane grabs her laptop and begins typing furiously.  “Darcy, I need you to double check the output.”

 

“Have you forgotten already?” Loki asks incredulously.  “Darcy isn’t here.”

 

“Oh, right,” She replies, not bothering to look up from her computer.  “Can you do it then?”

 

“If I must,” Loki says, gritting his teeth.  Normally he would flat out refuse, but under the conditions of his and Darcy’s agreement he is obligated.  Darcy’s words ring in his head  - _help Jane trace the signal, do whatever she asks._

 

Loki has to remind himself that it will be worth it.  Eventually.

 

He dutifully (resentfully) enumerates the readings to Jane while she types them in.  That’s how Darcy finds them when she arrives ten minutes later, coffee in hand and dark circles under her eyes.

 

“Nice to see you can get along without me,” she remarks, taking a swig of her coffee.

 

“Darcy!” Jane cries.  “Where have you been?”

 

“Oh, I—”

 

“We’ve located the signal!” Jane cut her off excitedly.  “I need help entering the coordinates into the matrix Tony gave us.  You’re the only one who knows how to work that thing.”

 

“Okay.”  Darcy sighs and sets down her things.

 

“So you are good for something,” Loki smirks at Darcy, but she ignores him.  In fact, she has not looked at him at all since she walked in. 

 

Darcy begins her work without complaint and Loki finds himself brushed aside – a mere tool that is of no present use.  It chafes him, to find himself in a similar position as the one he was relegated to on Asgard.  No matter the captors, it seems, his fate is the same. 

 

After a couple hours, Darcy forces Jane to take a break.  “It’s lunchtime, Jane.  We should get something to eat.”

 

“You go,” Jane says, waving her off.  “I need to keep plotting these coordinates.”

 

Darcy rolls her eyes.  “Fine, I’ll bring you back something.”

 

Loki rises from his seat in the corner and follows Darcy out of the lab.  The guards stationed at the door silently trail behind him, much to Loki’s annoyance.

 

“Why were you late this morning, Darcy?” he asks.

 

She shrugs without looking at him.  “I slept through my alarm.”

 

“You look quite tired.”  Darcy pushes the elevator button without answering.  “Trouble sleeping?”

 

“I guess.”

 

“Was it a bad dream?”

 

Darcy pauses, looking at him out of the corner of her eye.  “Maybe.”

 

“Shame.”  The elevator doors open and Loki steps inside followed by his guards.  “Perhaps you’ll grow to like them.”  He smirks at her just as the doors close.

 

* * *

 

 

“The signal seems to be located somewhere near Saturn, but I believe that it is growing closer every day,” Jane says.  Fury and the Avengers are gathered in the conference room to be debriefed by Jane.  Most of them look spectacularly bored, except for Bruce who looks mildly interested.

 

Darcy fights hard to stay awake, but is losing.  Loki sits next to her, silent and amused at the proceedings.

 

Darcy’s glad that Jane’s made a breakthrough, but is feeling too exhausted to show any real enthusiasm.  And Loki… Loki is making everything worse.

 

She’s been doing her best to ignore him all morning.  Looking at him only reminds her of her terrifying dream – a dream that he seems to know about.  She shouldn’t be surprised, not really, since he’s been in her mind for a while now which is weird and creepy in and of itself, but he’s a total prick about it which is just icing on the cake.  The whole thing is more disconcerting that Darcy would like to admit, even to herself.  If she covers her ears and closes her eyes then maybe she can pretend that these things aren’t really too bad.  Not in the grand scheme of things.  Not with the Avengers at her back.

 

Loki shifts slightly in his seat and Darcy hears him emit a near silent chuckle.

 

Is nothing sacred?

 

“Loki’s help has been… invaluable,” Jane says, pi               quing Darcy’s interest.  Jane sounds loathe to admit it, but Darcy has a feeling that the sentiment is mutual, what with the way Loki sneers at Jane when he thinks no one is looking.  Or when someone _is_ looking.  He’s not picky.  Darcy’s attention wanes again when Fury keeps talking, and not even Tony’s clever quips bring her out of her reverie.

 

“But we still don’t know exactly what this signal is or what’s causing it?” Fury asks.

 

“No, not yet,” Jane replies.  “But I think we’re close.”

 

“Loki?” Fury says, looking over the bored Asgardian.  “Care to add anything?”

 

“Dr. Foster has adequately summed up our findings,” Loki replies dully.  “There’s no need for me to say anything else.”

 

“Fine,” Fury states.  “Dismissed.”

 

The Avengers file out, but in her exhausted daze Darcy doesn’t notice.  She’s been thinking about her dream, replaying it over and over again in her mind.  It’s on a loop – a horrific and disturbing loop – she can’t even bring herself to look at Natasha because every time she does she can see the spy’s head rolling across a marble floor.  She tries to calm herself down, tries to reason with herself.  Maybe the dream has nothing to do with Loki’s meddling except in the weird tangential way dreams tend to feature people you know.  Maybe she’s just been watching too many episodes of Game of Thrones – it’s not like that show is short on severed heads or limbs or the kind of violence that makes you cringe and watch TV through your fingers.  Maybe it’s nothing to worry about.  Maybe it’s nothing at all.

 

“Darcy?” Jane calls.  “Are you coming?”

 

“Huh?” Darcy snaps to attention.  “Oh yeah, sorry.”

 

Darcy manages to trudge home and promptly collapses on her couch when she arrives.  She’s starving, but can’t seem to find the will to get up and throw something in the microwave.  _Good day today,_ she thinks.  _Jane’s happy, Loki’s useful, and I’m fucking tired._

 

Her eyes close and she’s asleep before she knows it.

 

* * *

  

_Loki sits on his throne regal and imposing – a god among kings, a king among gods.  The heads of his enemies line the hall on golden pikes.  Here lies the Avengers, the Jotuns, and Thanos.  Loki’s lips curl into a grin.  His enemies are defeated; he is the clever conqueror he has always known himself to be.  The man that Odin and the vapid Aesir could not imagine him becoming._

_Loki has all he wants; his desires met, he waits for his supplicants to kneel before him and soon the golden doors at the end of the hall open.  A girl walks in, a pretty girl with long brown hair and blue eyes.  She walks with purpose; her hips sway from side to side, swishing the green silk dress she wears in a most alluring manner._

_“And what do you want?” Loki asks as she approaches.  His eyes roam over her body – the thin silk leaves little to the imagination._

_“Your Highness,” she says.  “I want you.”_

_Her fingers nimble undo the dress’s ties and it slides off her slowly, sinfully.  Her skin is smooth and creamy white, her breasts large and round with small pink nipples hardening in the air.  Her waist is trim, her hips wide, and her mound soft and inviting.  Loki’s breath catches in his throat._

_“Loki,” she says boldly, and indeed her nude form has bought her at least that much allowance for insolence.  “Is this what you want?”_

_Loki’s eyes rise to meet hers; he fights the distraction quickly growing between his legs.  “Yes.”_

_Loki stands and slowly draws near; he reaches out his fingertips to brush the girl’s hair.  They slowly trail down to her neck, her shoulder, her breast._

_The girl looks up at him with bright blue eyes, glowing eyes the likes of which he’d only seen on those under control of the Tesseract._

_She parts her plump pink lips and sighs softly.  “Is this your favor?”_

* * *

_  
_

Loki wakes in his cell, cold sweat dewing the back of his neck, his breaths coming in shallow waves.  He groans as realizes he is hard, painfully hard, and curses himself for the indignity of having a wet dream while imprisoned.  Especially one featuring her.

 

He curls onto his side, his penis straining against his pants, but does not dare to relieve himself.  He knows how someone must always be watching him, and he will not give them any fodder for ridicule.  He clenches his fists and thinks about something else – anything else – other than the way Darcy had presented herself to him in his dream.  It had been such a long time since he’d felt any of those base desires.  She is a pretty girl, but that is irrelevant.  She is a means to an end, and sex is a distraction.

 

Loki wonders precisely what _her_ dreams have entailed the past few nights, if they were the same as his.  What with the way she acted around him earlier today, jumpy and skittish, along with the way her eyes drooped whenever there was a lull in conversation, Loki was sure she had had some terrible nightmare in which he was the star.  It was to be expected, really.  The supplicants of his past had also experienced some sort of nightmare or another – whether that was because Loki had so successfully entered their mind, or rather their insecurities and guilt weighed too heavily upon them.  Loki thinks it is both, in a way.  Guilt is just another form of torment and the weight of it just another offering to ensure their prayers will leave their lips and reach his ear.

 

The girl – Darcy – must be feeling it more than most.  By all accounts Loki is her enemy; he is regarded as humanity’s enemy, and her closest friends are the ones sworn to defeat him.  Loki supposes she must feel somewhat like a traitor.  And an outcast.  Loki knows what that feels like.

 

The door to his cell opens; it is morning already.  Thankfully the pressing need between his legs has subsided and he rises to greet his silent guards.  He bids them good morning and obediently follows them to Jane’s laboratory.  He smiles to himself when no one is looking.

 

Today Loki is in need of a favor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I guess this chapter is where I start to earn that M rating. And as always, your reviews are much appreciated so don't hold back!


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